Love Is On the Air
by cosmoandmarvar
Summary: Bella and Edward are successful in their professional lives…but can they be as lucky in love? Co-starring Zac Efron. Rated M for dirty language and Zefron's abs.


**Love Is On the Air**

**AN: This is our entry for The Jukebox Contest, in which we won second place in the judge's choice category. We were inspired by the song **_**Lucky**_** by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat.**

**Disclaimer: We don't own **_**Twilight**_** or **_**Lucky **_**or Zac. If we did, Rob and Zac would always be shirtless and not wearing stupid hats. And we would also have enough money to make Jason Mraz sing us to sleep.**

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"_I'm lucky I'm in love with my best friend…"_

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Today was another long day.

Fuck.

I love my job and I'm so fortunate that I am one of the few people in my field that gets to do what I do, but sometimes the negative outweighs the positive.

I quickly run through the list of pros and cons in my mind. I find that I'm doing this a lot more lately.

**Positive**: I am one of the most successful journalists in my field.

**Positive**: I have won three Emmys and two Peabodys.

**Positive**: I am in the middle of renegotiating my contract and CWN is offering me buckets of money to stay on as a correspondent journalist.

The money is nice and all, but having a lot of money doesn't mean much when you're sleeping in rough conditions in a country where a war is currently taking place.

**Negative**: Bella.

Not that Bella is a negative, but the lack of her in my everyday life is definitely the worst thing about my job.

Seriously.

The worst thing.

And I'm in the middle of a war.

And I know that there is only one thing on my "Negative List," but Bella outweighs everything. She always has. Thinking about her makes me smile, even if I am missing her more than I care to admit right now.

Bella blew into my life when I was twenty-eight. I was already working as a correspondent for CWN and she was an intern. She was right out of college – fresh-faced, twenty-two, so fucking smart and smart-mouthed – and she was, hands down, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

Ever.

She still is.

We started out as friends. Well, _friendly_. Well, _she_ was friendly. I was kind of an ass. I would try to make her do everything for me. Like getting my coffee, picking up my dry-cleaning and arranging my schedule. She did everything without question and still managed to write the best copy of anyone we had on staff.

And she was an intern.

I tried to play it cool, like I wasn't a stammering idiot whenever she was around…but I'm pretty sure she saw through all that shit. In fact, I know she did. I just didn't know she knew. I tried to push her buttons one day. I wanted so much to get a reaction from her – something to let me know that she was as into me as I was into her. So, I did the douchiest thing ever… I had her set up a romantic dinner date with another intern. Her name was Tanya.

I asked Bella to make all the necessary arrangements; her face showed nothing but cool professionalism. And she turned and walked away from me. And I wanted to fucking stab myself in the eye.

Nothing.

She gave me nothing.

Thirty minutes later, she stood in front of my desk with all the information a needed for my "date." She had, in fact, taken care of everything. Right down to the fucking letter. I knew then – probably before – that she was the only woman in the world for me. And then she spoke.

"Everything you asked for is there. But please, Edward…don't ask me to do anything personal for you again. I may be an intern, but I'm not _your_ intern. And this might get me fired, but I don't really give a shit. I should be doing more than writing copy anyway. I hope you enjoy your _date_ and I hope she doesn't give your herpes. I'm pretty sure you should be safe…if you use a condom."

There it was.

Fire.

Passion.

Everything I wanted.

And she was fucking pissed.

"Bella…I…"

I tried to start, but she cut me off as she turned around and walked away from me. I'm pretty sure she called Tanya a whore, though she would never admit to it. She might have called me a whore, too. And that only made me want her more.

I watched her ass as she walked out. I felt my dick swell at how just how gorgeous she was. How good I knew she would be. How fucking amazing I knew we could be together. In and out of bed.

So, I waited for her that evening. She drove a beater truck and I stood beside it. When she walked out toward me, I smiled. I was trying to be all charming and shit…but the scowling smirk on her face let me know right away that she was having none of it.

"What are you doing?" she asked me.

"Waiting for you."

"Why?" she spat. "Did you want me to let you use my truck for your date? I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure Tanya's been fucked in worse than the bed of my truck."

I couldn't help but laugh.

Even though she was pissed, every arc and curve of her body angled toward me. She was as pulled to me as I was to her.

I knew it. And she fucking knew it, too.

I was so caught up in her, that I almost didn't hear her speak again.

"And there's plenty of room, too. You know…for Tanya's ass and your ego."

I stepped to her then, pulling her to me and kissing her soundly.

Deeply.

Effectively shutting her up…and shutting down the option that there would ever be another woman for me.

Ever.

I pulled back, loving the way she sucked in her bottom lip. Knowing that it was me she was tasting on her tongue.

"What…what the fuck was that?" she asked.

"If I have to tell you what that was, Bella," I said lowly, "then no one has given you a proper kiss before."

"It was a good kiss, Edward," she said. "But I've had better."

She was so fucking challenging and confident.

Sexy.

"You're lying."

"What if I'm not?"

I stepped in closer – wanting so much to grab her and kiss her again. Her mouth…and every-fucking-where else.

"What if I told you that I wanted to spend tonight with you?"

She stepped in closer.

"I would tell you that I didn't want a second-hand date that was meant for someone else."

_Goddamn, I wanted her._

"What if I said that I wanted to skip the date altogether and take you to bed?"

I could feel her breath as I slid my hands up along the length of her arms.

"I would tell you that sexual harassment was a serious issue," she said coolly. "And that maybe you should do an investigative report on it."

_Fuck._

"I wasn't…I mean…"

My hands dropped immediately.

And then I heard it.

The perfect sound of her laughter.

And let me just say, there is nothing better than the sound of Bella's voice when she laughs.

"You're fucking with me?" I asked.

"Well, you fucked with me first."

She reached out and brought my hands back to her. And everything about it – about her – felt right.

"Did you mean what you said about not going on the date?" she asked.

"Why?"

She ran one hand along the white cotton of my t-shirt, causing every muscle in my abdomen to clench in anticipation.

Want.

I wanted her.

"Because I don't fuck on the first date, Edward," she whispered. "And I really want to fuck you."

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"Dude, it's almost time."

I'm pulled from my thoughts of Bella as my camera man, Emmett, walks in.

Thank fuck I didn't have my dick in my hand.

I swear…that never happened.

I would normally be pissed, but the reason he's interrupting me is so I can watch the live feed of Bella's show tonight. Seeing her is almost as good as thinking of her. It's only almost as good because she's never naked on national television.

She's usually naked in my thoughts.

Not always.

I'd say it's about seventy/thirty.

"Damn it," I exclaim as I open my laptop to pull the feed. "I didn't realize how late it was."

"I can't believe you're going to watch some red carpet bullshit like a fucking pussy."

"Shut the fuck up," I say and I throw a half-empty bottle of water at him. "I always watch her."

I connect to the live feed that CWN provides for me. The show isn't on the air yet, but I see her.

Gorgeous.

Even on screen and so far away from me…she still manages to take my breath away.

Perfect.

Wonderful.

My best friend.

My Bella.

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"Bella, hurry. Get on your mark. We're going live... In three, two..." Alice screeches in my earpiece. Christ, I'll be deaf by twenty-eight.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Bella Swan, live from the Red Carpet...or purple carpet, actually, at the MTV Movie Awards," I say into my microphone. "Stay tuned to EN Entertainment News, as we bring you all the gossip and fashion live from Los Angeles."

Ugh. The fake enthusiasm. I'm making myself hurl. My boss would be happy if I did; she suggested throwing up as a form of dieting. It's times like these that I wonder why I left my writing job with CWN. Oh yeah, the pay was crap and I wanted to be on-air talent. Now I make an obscene amount of money, but at what cost? I interview celebrities about their personal lives and their clothes. Way to put that degree from Columbia to good use, Bella. But the worst part is I get even less time with my boyfriend - no, that's a poor title for the person who _is_ my life - Edward. He's probably doing a story on homeless children in a third world country while I'm talking to an attention-whore whose dress is made from chicken skin. Yes, actual chicken skin.

I do enjoy my job; it just gets to me sometimes. Bitching to Edward on Skype is not the same as having him comfort me in person. And Edward is really, really good at that. Well, let's be honest, he's good at everything.

I'm thinking of Edward as I wait for some teen singer to stop signing autographs and join me for an interview. Alice feeds me the details of "floppy hair's" (I don't really care or remember his name) album and what awards he's up for. I repeat the process several times...I'm good at this, which is why I'm here and not Rosalie Hale. Spoiled rich cow wants my job.

She had a mildly successful reality show and suddenly she wants to be a television personality. I mean, really, her best moments on camera are from her sex tape. Well, actually TMZ has some excellent footage from her shoplifting trial when she threatened to pull out her hair extensions if she didn't get to take her dog with her to rehab.

Normally I wouldn't worry about competition, but Rosalie could literally blow her way to the top. I've seen her deep throat a nine inch cock (the video was really high quality). Of course I can, too, but a testimonial from Edward won't do me much good. Mmmm. Edward's cock...

"Bella!" Alice hisses, "You said that out loud."

_Crap._ I snort and regroup for my next interview. Jasper, my makeup artist, powders my t-zone and freshens my face as I wait for my next interview. It's the heartthrob star of a popular trilogy of movies about a love triangle between two hot boys - one turns into a bear - who are both in love with a witch. The boy - I use the term loosely because he's actually 24 playing a 17 year old - who isn't the bear walks up to me. My first thought is, _Damn, he's gorgeous, but what the fuck is he wearing? Does he not have a stylist? _

_"_So, you're making an eighties statement with that jacket tonight?" I ask the man-boy. I have to yell and lean forward because women are screaming when they see him. It's even worse than Alice's eardrum splitting shrieks. Man-boy answers with a British-accented ramble that is adorable, but not interesting. He won't answer any questions about him dating his costar or make comments about the other cast members. So I cut him off and thank him when Alice gives me the signal.

"Daamn...Zac's coming up. Game face, Bella. He's so hot," Alice says in my ear. "You better not stare at him."

Shit. I have a little crush on him. It's totally innocent. Well, mostly. You've seen pics of his abs, right? I did a whole special where I drew on them with a telestrator. He'd totally be number one on my "list" if I were allowed to have one. Edward and I decided we couldn't have celebrity lists because we actually knew celebrities and interacted with them. Yeah, suddenly that agreement seems like an excellent idea.

I inhale sharply and ready myself for the hotness. I can handle this. I once interviewed both Bradley Cooper and Alexander Skarsgard while they were shirtless on the beach in Cannes. If I didn't whimper or cop a feel during that, I think I'll be fine.

I am so professional...I'm not even sweating...as he's _flirting with me_? I ask about his movie and his outfit as he lightly touches my arm and grins. He's very close and smells soo good. Gah...he has pretty eyes. But Edward's eyes are amazing. Yes, Bella. Remember Edward? He puts the "fuck" in "fuck hot."

Okay, I'm almost through with this. Alice feeds me the final question.

"Zac, we have a question from one of your fans on Twitter. LuvsMeSomeEfron wants to know who your celebrity crush is."

Zac laughs and winks at the camera and then turns back to me. "That's ironic that you're asking me that, Bella, because truthfully, you are," he says, leaning forward so that his lips are very close to my ear. My eyes widen and I hear Alice say "oh fuck me" in my other ear. I quickly recover and laugh as I thank him for his time. He presses a card into my hand and makes the "call me" gesture.

Holy shit. I have Zefron's digits. Not that I'll use them.

I'm completely taken.

By Edward. He could've totally starred in HSM4. The man can dance and sing. His rendition of "Rock Your Body" makes all panties within a five mile radius explode.

Alice tells me I have one last interview before the show begins and it's...uch, Rosalie Hale. Of course she is hanging all over one of the biggest stars of the night. I plaster on my smile as they approach. Fuck, how am I supposed to _not _make a rude comment? There are so many choices...

"Rosalie Hale and Jacob Black. You look...oh, there are no words," I say with a smile. Rose tells me about her outfit - what there is of it - and I turn to Jacob. "So, Jake, can you tell us what statement you're making by not wearing a shirt? And who makes your cutoffs?"

"Well, Bella, my fans want to see my pecs, and I love my fans," Jake shouts toward the screaming crowd. As an added bonus he makes his chest muscles dance. What talent.

"So, Rosalie, I guess I don't have to ask if you're Team Pecs or Team Sideburns, right?" I say with a laugh. Rosalie looks confused, of course; I didn't ask about implants or designer shoes. She attempts a giggle, but it sounds more like a smoker's cough. I pinch myself so I don't roll my eyes.

Jacob returns from his fangirls to grab hold of Rose. I thank them and thank god (in my mind that I'm done with this shit) and get ready for my signature sign-off. I always signal to Edward that I love him by tapping my bottom lip when I wave goodbye. It's my way to kiss him from afar and keep us connected. He always makes the effort to watch me.

I'm in the middle of signing off when someone starts yelling and there's a big commotion and Alice is screeching in my ear "it's sex tape guy" and "get some audio."

"Mr. Sex Tape" screams obscenities at Jake and Rosalie. I think he wants to fight over her. Has this dumbass seen Jake's muscles? I don't think his giant cock is going to protect him.

Sex Tape yells, "You fucked my girlfriend, douchebag_!" Dude, so have all of the guys in Hollywood and some of the women_. He throws a punch, but he misses when Jacob does some sort of flip (Bear Boy has mad skills). Jacob then starts kicking Sex Tape's ass. Rosalie is crying and putting on a show for the cameras. It's her best acting job, yet. I step over Rosalie's rat/dog/accessory that escaped from her designer dog holder to get the closer to the bloodshed. I'm holding the mic to their mouths as they grapple and I can't believe I'm reporting on this cluster fuck. I'll probably get an Emmy nomination or something for this crap.

When I get home I think about the difference between what Edward does and what I do and I realize...I've had blood (and a tooth) splattered on me by two douchebags (note to self: boil that dress). Edward has cradled dying war victims and been covered in blood and tears.

Yeah, totally the same thing. Geez, how does he even look at me - let alone be in love with me - without snorting at this ridiculousness that is my career?

I'm so lucky that I'm in love with my best friend. Oh, Edward.

_Fuck! Edward._

I didn't tell him I love him.

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I try to call Edward but I get his voicemail. I send several emails but I don't get a response. He's been out of contact before as he traveled, but never for this long so I'm a bit concerned. I know he's made his reports on CWN - I DVRd the news. Maybe we keep missing each other or something's wrong with his phone. I know that dealing with this kind of separation is part of loving him, but it doesn't make it any easier.

I just miss him so much.

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I had a busy week recapping "the Bear Beatdown" on various shows, and the added bonus of getting asked about my relationship with Zac Efron. That's an excellent development. I'm sure my boyfriend who is thousands of miles away will want to hear all about that. He's not the jealous type, but he's always telling me that I can do better than him. That's absolutely crazy because there is no one else for me. Edward is everything in one fucking amazing package. And his package is fucking amazing, too. I still haven't talked to Edward and I'm starting to worry. I hope he didn't see that little display that Zac put on and get jealous.

Wednesday I get an email from Edward saying that he's fine. I'm happy that he's not ignoring me completely, but honestly it's a shitty response. I don't bother with another email. Something is wrong.

Saturday brings me to the Red Carpet again. This time it's the Golden Globes. I get all the best interviews (hello, George Clooney) because of my new-found fame. Everyone wants to comment about the fight. Alice tells me that my boss, Heidi, is thrilled that we are getting the top celebrities. This is excellent for me because Heidi hates my ass (literally - she told me to lose 10 pounds or get lipo) and is a big Rosalie supporter. Although I think my job is safe because Rosalie just got another reality show where she'll live with Jacob Black and Sex Tape (he has a name but I like calling him "Sex Tape"). It'll be called "Rack-n-Black." Seriously. I can't wait for the wacky hi-jinx. Or the inevitable arrests and rehab. I secretly (okay, publicly, when I muttered it at the staff meeting) hope for the latter because Rosalie has two strikes.

"What are you grinning about, Bella?" Jasper asks as he touches up my lipstick. "Thinking about your man? I would, if I were you. And I'm not even gay." We both laugh because it's true - Edward is hot enough to make straight men want peen.

"I haven't talked to him all week, Jazz. I'm actually worried."

"Maybe you can call the network and see if communication is down or something."

"Look alive, Bella," Alice barks into my ear. Jasper goes back to the make-up table and out of the shot.

A true Hollywood super couple is approaching. Award-winning actress Esme Platt and her husband, the even more rich and famous Carlisle Cullen, the owner of Cullen World News, or CWN, are headed toward me. They don't often attend these events, especially together. But Esme is getting a lifetime achievement award tonight. I ask them all the usual questions I'm supposed to; they are a lovely couple and it's obvious they are not putting on a show. So then I ask them what I really want to know.

"Carlisle and Esme, how do you make a long-distance relationship work?"

They say that they talk to each other constantly and travel often - no matter how far – nothing keeps them apart. I almost lose my composure as I see the look of love in their eyes.

"That's really wonderful. You know, you actually used to be my boss and you're currently my boyfriend's boss. Edward Masen? Maybe you can give him some time off so he can visit me," I joke, but I barely conceal the desperation in my voice.

"Ah, Edward. He's my top corrspondent, Bella. I'm pleased that he's going to sign an extended contract. But of course you probably already know that," Carlisle says. I want to scream, "no!" but I maintain my professionalism. "I just sent him to Thailand, actually."

"Yes, he's very talented. Thank you for your time. I hope you have a wonderful evening."

Yeah, and fuck you, Cullen. You don't actually have to send him all over the world. Can't you own Cullen News Los Angeles or something? And what the fuck, Edward? You're going to sign a new contract and you don't even talk to me about it?

"Hey, um, Bella," Alice says, "you might want to keep that quiet. Technically, Carlisle Cullen is your boss, too. His company just bought our network."

Oh, that's fantastic. I can be lonely and jobless.

I do one more interview before I sign off. This time I do my "I love you" signal to Edward at the end of my broadcast. I can't miss it. I'm a complete mess of swirling emotions. Alice and Jasper try to calm me down, but I have to do something.

I think about what Esme said...no matter how far, you go...to be together.

And I want to be together.

With him.

Damn, that ticket is expensive. But he's so worth it.

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"_Across the water, across the deep blue ocean…_

_Under the open sky, oh my, baby I'm trying…_

_Boy I hear you in my dreams…"_

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As much as I have always known that there was no one in the world for me except Bella, a part of me has always known that she deserves better.

_More._

Not that any man could ever love her as much I as I do – because they couldn't – but she deserves someone who can be there for her more. Someone who isn't always so far away. Someone who's commitment to their career doesn't take them away for sometimes months on end. Someone she can come home to at night…make love to every day…be on her arm at a fucking red carpet event.

Someone like Zac-fucking-Efron.

Pretty boy mother fucker.

Fucking hair gel using – High School Musical singing – should have been in Glee – younger than me mother fucker.

I watched him as he flirted with her and I knew that he held nothing on me where she was concerned. He didn't know the way she likes to be held tight when I kiss her. He didn't know that the tender skin beneath her ear makes her instantly wet and ready when I suck it. He didn't know that she secretly loves it when I talk dirty. And he didn't know the way she feels when I'm inside her.

Hot and wet.

Tight and slick.

How she bites down on her lip, holding her breath, while she hangs on as long as she can until her orgasm overtakes her.

And he didn't motherfucking know what it feels like to have her come all over his cock.

I fucking _knew_ those things.

And he didn't.

But that smug bastard wanted to.

And I sat there and watched as he flirted with her – a part of me pissed that he was doing it – but a bigger part of me was smug and confident in the knowledge that she only wanted me.

She had only ever wanted me.

And it was in that quiet cockiness that I saw her blush. I saw her laugh at his jokes and blush _that_ blush…_my fucking blush._

And Zac-fucking-Efron should have been glad that the fucking distance of the world was between us. Because when I saw that…I wanted to hurt him.

And for the record…I am opposed to violence.

I have spent the majority of my career, capturing images and using my words and my voice to show the world that there's a better way.

But not then.

Not when it came to her.

Not when it came to Bella.

I wanted to slam the laptop shut, but I couldn't. I had to keep watching. I always, always waited until she gave me our signal. It was her way of telling me she loved me. And it was this one small thing that was special between us. Special, because no matter where I was or what I was reporting on, it was her way of showing me that there was something better in the world.

And nothing is better than the love of Bella Swan.

She always told me.

Always.

Every single time.

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Until then…

As I board the plane to Thailand, I can't get Bella off my mind. What is she doing? Does she miss me as much as I miss her? Is Zac keeping her company…offering her comfort? I feel the need to drink at the thought. And I haven't had a drink since the night I broke my phone.

After I slammed the laptop shut, I drank an entire bottle of Jack Daniels with Emmett. He thought it would help me blow off steam, but all it really did was make me stupid-drunk. I ended up throwing my phone and shattering it.

And if I were a melodramatic asshole…I would make a fucking analogy about the phone being like my heart.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

I _am_ a melodramatic asshole.

After I sulked for a few days – thinking that I wasn't what she needed – I emailed her to tell her that I was fine. I waited to hear from her – desperate to know that she wasn't pissed that I hadn't called and knowing that she probably was and she had every right to be.

She didn't respond.

And I checked my mail.

Every day.

Every moment I had a chance.

And there was nothing.

So I made the decision to extend my contract. I made this _huge_ fucking decision without her. And I only hoped that she would understand…and that she could be happy without me.

We've never gone for this long without some form of contact. In all the years, we've always made time for each other. Even if it was just a few minutes on the phone. And I fucking miss those minutes right now. I miss her voice. I miss her heart – her heart that always belonged to me.

And as the plane touches down, I can't get her out of my mind. I know I've fucked up…and I know what I have to do to fix it. I don't know if I _can_ fix it, but I know that I have to try.

I've been in Phuket for three days. I'm doing a piece on the long-term process of rebuilding after the tsunami of 2004. The people, the places – this small island that was so devastated and destroyed and how they recovered.

To be honest, I'm exhausted. And all I can think about is that I am literally in this perfect, quiet paradise…and she's not here with me. And I wish she was.

So fucking much.

I'm such a fucking idiot.

As I head back to my villa on the water, I breathe in deeply. The warm salt air is soothing, comforting. But it's nothing like the comfort of home. And now I know – and on some level – I've always known that _she_ is where my home is. I knew it the moment she threatened me about sexual harassment. I probably knew it the first time I laid eyes on her.

_Cue Roberta Flack._

I told you…melodramatic asshole.

I walk inside, throwing my things on the couch before hearing the unfamiliar ping of my new phone. The network sent it to me on my first day here. I pick it up and look at the message.

It's not her.

It's _never_ her.

I read the message and I know – without looking at the number – who it's from.

_Everything's set._

I quickly type out my response, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth for the first time in days.

_Good._

No more than a minute later, my phone pings again. I open the message and read it.

_Are you sure about this?_

My response is certain…and final.

_Yes._

I turn off my phone, knowing that the only person I want to contact me, won't. And that's my own fucking fault. I'm exhausted and need to rest. The bed in the center of the room looks so inviting. Doing what I do and staying in the places I usually stay, accommodations like this are few and far between. I shed my clothes and walk into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

I step into the steaming, hot water. My mind drifts to the people that I've spoken with here – the people that I still need to interview tomorrow. They're all so resilient, so humble and hard working. And the truth is that they are nothing short of amazing to have come back from such astronomical and devastating loss. But even as I think of them – of this place – my mind inevitably turns to her.

Bella.

I would always talk to her about the things I see…the people I meet. She was always the one person that I could share everything with – my thoughts and feelings regarding the things I've witnessed in my career. And I could always be honest about what I felt – with no agenda or need to placate to her – because she always understood. And she always fucking listened.

I'm such a goddamn idiot.

She could never share something like that with Zac Efron. What is he going to talk to her about? The new Justin Bieber song? The script for High School Musical 17? How good his abs look in his new board shorts? In a moment of insecurity, I look down over my naked body. My abs still look good.

Well…they do.

I ignore the fact that I know who Justin Bieber is, telling myself that I listen to Bella when she talks about her job, too.

"Fuck, Edward," I exclaim to myself. "Stop being such a pussy."

After I'm dry and changed, I open the glass doors that lead to balcony overlooking the water. The sun is beginning to set and I am struck with the absolute beauty of the place surrounding me. The turquoise of the water is mixing with the pinks and oranges of the sky. It's breathtaking – beautiful really. I don't know that I've ever seen anything so stunning.

Except her.

There are a few people outside, down by the water. I notice a few couples walking and holding hands. And once again, I want so much to share this place with her.

Fuck.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a woman. She's wearing a long skirt and white tank top. She's standing at the edge of the ocean, her bare feet just inside the water. She reminds me of Bella. I look away, knowing that the idea of her being here is too much for me to deal with.

She's not here.

She's not even speaking to me.

I walk back inside, but my mind keeps returning to the woman on the beach. Quietly, I walk out the open doors and look over to where she was. She's still there. And there's something so soft and serene about her posture…her presence. I notice her hair, hanging down in soft, full waves over her shoulders and down her back. It's chestnut brown, just like…

And my entire body stills.

She looks just like her. I realize that I have completely lost my mind at this point. I miss her so much, that I am officially crazy and creating visions of her in my mind.

But she's real…isn't she?

I can see her – vivid and gorgeous like the sunset she's looking at.

And her body…

I _know_ that body.

I stare at her feet…her legs…the perfect swell of her ass.

_Bella…_

_Bella…_

_Bella…_

She's here.

Or I'm crazy.

Before I can stop myself, I push myself over the wooden rail of the balcony and make the short jump down to the ground. And I'm running, without any real thought or caution – my mind playing her name over and over again as I look at her.

When I finally get to her – when she's so fucking close that I can reach out touch her and smell her subtle perfume – I stop. I have a moment of panic, thinking that I actually _have_ created this all in my mind. My heart is pounding, my hands twitching with the need to take her into my arms – to beg her to forgive me for being such an idiot.

But I don't.

I just stand there…staring…breathing…watching the way they breeze is moving through her hair.

She's real.

_She's fucking real._

"What's the matter, Edward?" she asks. "Cat got your tongue…_and_ your phone?"

She turns around, her chocolate eyes staring into mine. Her full lips, naked and wet as she licks them.

"You're here," I say.

It's stupid, I know…but I just can't believe it. And she's always made me stupid – a fumbling, inarticulate idiot.

"Someone told me that it didn't matter how far…you go…because you want to be together. And Edward, I want to be with you."

Her eyes are so sincere and genuine and once again, I am overcome with how much I don't deserve her. But also – and most importantly – I know that it's the same for me. It will _always_ be the same for me.

_And I know I've made the right decision_.

I reach out to her…tentatively. Without question, she takes my hands. They're shaking because I'm a pussy. And I don't care about that. Not at all. I only care about the soft warmth of her skin against my hand. She squeezes gently, like she's nervous, too. And why wouldn't she be nervous. Why, after the way I've acted, the way I've fucked up…would she feel secure in our relationship?

I pull her into my arms, holding her tight and burying my face in her hair and neck. I breathe in her scent…all fresh and sweet and warm and her. Everything about her is perfect.

She's home.

To me…she's home.

And I want to go home.

"I've missed you so much," I whisper against her skin. "And I'm so fucking sorry, Bella."

"It doesn't matter."

She's wrong.

"It does."

My hands are rubbing her, touching her…holding her close to me. I still can't believe that she's here. I don't know if I should laugh or cry, but then I remember…only pussies cry. So I laugh. It's soft at first and then it gets louder.

"Why didn't you call me?" she asks.

She doesn't pull away and I know that we are going to be okay.

"I broke my phone," I admit.

"_Intentionally_?"

"Umm…" I stammer. "Yeah…the night…I mean…well…"

Fuck.

I'm an idiot.

"Well?"

I pull my head back to look at her…her beautiful eyes that are warm and deep and swimming with emotions and questions that I need to answer. So, I man up…and tell her.

"The night of the red carpet…with Zac Efron."

She should leave me.

Fuck, I want to break up with me, now that I think about the fact that I was jealous of him. Jealous of him, when I have this. When I have her.

When I have _this_ with _her_.

She rolls her eyes and begins to laugh.

I'm such a fucking douchebag, but I can't even care. Because the sound of her laughter is soothing to me in ways that I will never fully understand.

"Tell me you weren't jealous of Zac Efron."

She almost can't say the words because she's giggling. I start to laugh, too. It's freeing…comfortable…easy. I look into her eyes and she grows quiet. The moment becomes more serious. I bring my hands up to her neck – my thumbs stoking her cheeks and feeling her pulse under my fingers.

"I miss you," I tell her honestly. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, Edward," she says. "I _always_ miss you. But this is your life and four years ago I decided that if I was going to be with you…if we were going to do this together…distance was something that I would have to accept. And I have. Now, I have."

And I love her so much in this moment that I don't even think I can tell her because if I do…I'll scare her with just how much I need her. And all she fucking needs is a needy pussy that's jealous of a teen star.

"Do you know that you're my best friend?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she whispers. "I do. You're my best friend, too."

She wraps her arms around me, hugging me tight and we fall together in the sand, still holding on to each other and not wanting to let go.

"I love you, Bella. And I need to tell you…_something_."

She looks up at me and the setting sun is shining on her hair. The ends almost look golden...caramel…beautiful.

_She is so fucking beautiful._

"I already know, Edward," she says softly. "And while I wish that you would have talked to me before you made the decision…I understand that this is your life."

I'm confused by her words. How can she know? No one except Carlisle knows.

"What are you talking about?"

"Carlisle told me at the Golden Globes that you decided to extend your contract."

_She doesn't know._

"Yeah….ummm….about that," I start. "I'm sorry I made that decision without talking to you…but something has…umm…changed."

I reach around and pick one of the flowers growing on the bush behind us. Pushing her hair behind her ear, I place the tropical bud in her hair. The yellow flower holds nothing on her beauty…but it looks gorgeous in her hair and against her skin.

So, I tell her.

"You're beautiful."

She blushes.

Even more beautiful.

"What changed?" she asks, he fingers playing at the delicate petals of the cassia.

"I don't want to be away from you anymore, Bella."

I look at her, wanting her to see the truth behind what I'm saying.

I mean it.

I never want to be away from her like this again. I want a life with her. I want a home with her.

I just _want_ her.

"What do you mean?" she asks. "What about your job…the extension?"

"I told them I didn't want to do it anymore."

"What?" she gasps.

"Edward, you love this. This is your career…your life."

"No," I tell her. "You…you are my life. I want to be with you. Back home…with you."

Her eyes grow wet with not enough tears to actually spill over…but her smile lets me know that she wants this, too. She wants me as much as I want her.

She loves me as much as I love her.

"What will you do?" she asks.

"What," I say, smiling. "You afraid you're gonna have to support me now?"

She laughs again and I just can't help it…I pull her into my lap and hold her close to me.

"I would support you," she says. "But you would have to clean the house and do all my laundry."

"I suck at cleaning," I tell her, kissing her cheeks. "And I really suck at laundry. That's why I always wear khaki pants and white t-shirts. It's pretty hard to fuck those up."

"I love when you wear khaki, but what will you do with all your free time?"

I waggle my eyebrows suggestively, trailing my hand down her neck and chest and cup her breast in my palm.

_Fuck me._

She's not wearing a bra.

Taking my thumb, I trace circles around her nipple, feeling it harden through the cotton.

"I think we can find something to do with all my time."

She whimpers and moans as she wraps her legs around me. Not caring if anyone is around us…and that drives me fucking crazy.

"I think you're right," she whispers breathlessly.

I cover her mouth with mine. I pour every bit of the need and longing and just how much I've fucking missed her into the kiss. She opens her mouth to me and I suck on her bottom lip, pulling it between my teeth and biting down gently…and then roughly. She tastes so good and I never want to stop kissing her ever again.

I pull back before I go too far. I still need to tell her…everything.

She's panting.

It's hot…as hell.

"They're giving me my own show," I spit out quickly, wanting to get back to kissing her perfect, now-swollen lips. "I'll be the anchor and it will be nightly. It doesn't mean that I'll stop travelling altogether, but it means that I'll be able to be there most of the time…with you."

"What?" she asks, her brown eyes wide with disbelief.

"I love you, Bella," I tell her – not for the first time – just the first time today. "I'm in love with you…and I don't want to be away from you anymore. I want to be with you every day. I want to make you coffee in the morning…and make love to you every night. And…you know…maybe sometimes in the afternoon…or instead of coffee in the morning. And I want to be with you on the red carpet so that Zac-fucking-Efron knows to keep his goddamn hands to himself."

We both laugh at my admission. And I wonder how I manage to make a living using my words.

I must be somewhat good looking and charismatic.

"You know that Bradley Cooper has been checking me out lately, right? You may have to fight for me," she teases.

"I've been working out," I say.

"Yeah, I noticed…" she says as her hand skims beneath the waistband of my pants.

"I want to be with you…forever," I finally say.

"You have me forever."

.

.

.

.

.

I stand off to the side, looking at her.

Gorgeous.

Flawless.

Mine.

He blue dress is stunning and I love the way it looks against her skin. She's smiling and she chances a look over at me. I see her eyes brighten as we make eye contact and now there is no signal…there are just the words as she mouths them to me.

"I love you."

And I beam.

She takes a deep breath, situating herself and looking at the camera.

"Live from the Red Carpet at the Academy Awards…this is Bella Swan Masen."

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**End Notes: Leave us a review if you enjoyed it. We are currently working on a new story. Add us to author alerts if you are interested.**

**marvar: It may or may not include Draco/Harry slash (I am totally kidding, but if that idea appeals to you, PM me for some rec's). cosmogirl7481 ships Harry/Dobby. Freak.**

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